


Irresponsible Infatuation

by Darksidekelz



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Other, Spike is a terrible person, Xeno, holoform sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: Prowl was strict, cold, and pragmatic.  Who'd have ever guessed he'd fall in love with a human?





	Irresponsible Infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know why I wrote this? I've never written human smut before, and though this is not quite human, it is close enough to have presented a struggle. Oh well. I've spent too much time working on it to not post it.

Prowl was a sensible mech, sometimes the  _ only _ sensible mech, a fact which he was all too aware of.  He could scheme with the best of them, plan for every contingency, and he wasn't afraid to let his spark interfere with what needed to be done for victory.  Remaining on Earth in light of their victory over Megatron was a mistake; he knew that.  The Decepticons were no longer a threat to the planet, and the planet very much did  _ not _ want them here.

But Optimus had commanded it, and Prowl, resisting every step of the way, had played the good little soldier he was, and followed along.  He'd even started to enjoy himself – go out of his way to protect the humans, and to protect his own kind from them, Autobot or Decepticon.  He was out of his head, a fact which the others loved to tease him for to no end.

"You're a regular humanitarian now, aintcha, Prowler?" Jazz taunted with a smile and a wink.

"I'm just following orders.  If Optimus wants us to make nice with the natives, then I will do so, regardless of my own feelings on the matter."

"Yeah yeah," Jazz chuckled.  "You're  _ really _ the dutiful little soldier, mech.  I know just how devoted you are to logic and reason.  Why, it must  _ kill _ you to be watchin' Commander Witwicky day in and day out."

"I beg your pardon?"  Prowl felt a good twitch coming on.  Spike Witwicky was their human liaison with Skywatch.  As Autobot second in command, it was his  _ duty _ to keep an eye on the little bugger and make sure he wasn't up to anything shady.  Not that he thought Spike would betray him.  He seemed like a decent sort, if not a bit alien for Prowl's tastes.

"Your feigned obliviousness is adorable.  I see the way you look at him, with his little organic struts flexing in that squishy way of theirs as he works that machine of his – y'know the one that makes him –"

“Call it morbid fascination then,” Prowl groaned.  “We've so rarely had the opportunity to study the humans in such close quarters."

"We had three of 'em living in our base for a minute."

Prowl stiffened.  Yes, they had, as much as he'd protested it, but this was different.  These weren't some useless native lifeforms forcing themselves into the war like brazen idiots.  Spike was a soldier, it emanated from him in his every waking moment, from the way he talked, the way he moved, the calm confidence he expressed himself with.  He truly was a fascinating creature, one that Prowl rather wanted to study.  It was good to know what the humans could do, after all.

"Spike Witwicky's circumstance is different from theirs."

"And he's pretty handsome for a fleshbag."

Prowl shot his smiling friend a wicked glare.  "I don't dare begin to imagine what the implications of  _ that _ statement might be.  Tell me Jazz, do you really have so much leisure time, or are you just blowing off work again?"

Jazz laughed.  "Alright, you caught me boss.  I'll be good from here on in.  But Primus, the look on your face!"

Over the years, Prowl had mastered the pinched face of irritation and impending assigned time in the brig.  Jazz knew exactly what the expression meant, and promptly sidled right the frag out of there, still snickering all the while.  "You'd've thought he thought me  _ serious _ !"

And those parting words, mumbled in good humor, were enough to send Prowl's world topsy turvy in a way that he very much would've liked to deny.  Of  _ course _ he hadn't thought Jazz was actually implying that Prowl was interested in Spike Witwicky.  The very notion was preposterous!  Spike was a _ human _ !  An organic, and particularly tiny and unattractive one at that.  As though Prowl would ever take interest in such a creature!

But now that it was in his head, the notion just wouldn't go away.

He found himself watching the human more and more these days, his specialized processor dreaming up all sorts of strange scenarios that resulted in a less-than-formal encounter between the two – not that  _ that _ was what Prowl wanted.  Damn Jazz to the Pit for this!  Spike was a useful ally and  _ nothing _ more.

. . .

Just  _ once _ Prowl wanted to be attracted to a normal  _ mech _ .  Was that too much to ask?

~~~

This was getting ridiculous.  Prowl was an intellectual, a fierce warrior, an Autobot officer – millions of years old, and here he was, incapable of being in the same _room_ as an inconsequential little _human_ _being_ without turning into a giddy protoform!  Spike moved an inch, and Prowl's optics immediately locked onto him, watching his fleshy muscles ripple beneath his skin, imagining what they looked like from within.

He had a problem and he needed to get it solved immediately.  And so, he went to Jetfire.  Jetfire was smart, logical, and knew how to keep a secret.  He would surely have the solution.

"You do realize I'm a bit busy to deal with things like this, right?"

"I do," Prowl acknowledged, without the barest hint of guilt, "but you are the only one I can turn to.  And I feel that, it is not strategically sound for an officer to be experiencing feelings of lust for one of the natives of a planet in which the Autobots have a very unsteady truce with, at the very least.  It would be beneficial for the cause if you provided me with assistance."

Jetfire looked up from his work, fixing Prowl with a pointed glare, though he gave no further sign of his displeasure.  "What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?"

"I need a way to suppress these urges."

"No."

No?  Just like that?  Prowl wasn't having it.  "Why not?"

“I’m a busy mech, Prowl.  You want to suppress your strange urge to interface with one of those fleshbags, talk to a therapist and leave me out of it.”

“I’m your superior officer,” Prowl protested, half-heartedly.

“I can and  _ will _ go over your head.  I will not waste military resources to subdue your lewd thoughts.  Deal with it, or find an outlet.  I don’t care.”

~~~

He never should have admitted his feelings to Jetfire.  It only made the crush all the more tangible – he was infatuated with Spike Witwicky.  Jetfire knew.  Jazz probably knew.  It would only be a matter of time until Spike knew.  And  _ that _ was unacceptable.  Cybertronians and human beings were incompatible.  It was ridiculous to even entertain the notion!  Interfacing with Spike (what kind of name was  _ Spike _ , anyway?!) would only result in a dead human and an unsatisfied Prowl.

But he could fantasize.  He’d tried self-service first, allowing a giant version of their human companion to come to him in his fantasies, to wrap his hands around his spike, to stroke him, to take him into his human valve, and . . . no, it was just too weird to imagine.  Was this how humans interfaced?  Maybe he should look up how humans interfaced; surely it couldn’t be  _ that _ difficult.  Cybertronians still had self-service media, and most of their art had been eradicated by four million years of war.   _ Surely _ the humans had  _ something _ !

“What are you watchin’?” Jazz asked, leaning over Prowl’s shoulder.  Prowl tried in vain to hide the monitor in front of him behind a hand.  But what was the point?  The lewd human moaning still trickled from the speakers.

“What are you doing in here?” Prowl snapped.  Groping around for the off switch with his free hand.  Jazz made a smooth interception.

“Why so shifty, my mech?  What on Earth could  _ you _ be watching that’s so bad?  I mean, I got a  _ guess _ , but . . .”

“Jazz, go away!  This is my  _ private _ business!”  

“I’m sure,” Jazz smirked, reaching over Prowl’s shoulders for his other hand, in an effort to pry it off the screen.

The next thing either mech knew, they were on the floor, wrestling in a chaotic mess of limbs and door wings, as Prowl tried with all of his might to get the prying little bastard to leave him alone.  Of course, between the two, it was obvious who the physically superior mech was.  Prowl ended the altercation pinned on his stomach, with Jazz straddling his aft, each of Prowl’s hands trapped in one of his own, and pinned to the floor.  Prowl was growling ineptly for all the good it did.  Jazz’s gaze was firmly fixed on the monitor, and the two humans going at it on display.

Curiosity won his attention, and he released Prowl, dancing over to Prowl’s chair, and perching on the balls of his feet to get a better look.  “Y’know?  They ain’t all that different from us.   _ That’s _ surprising.”

“I’ve gathered that they do not have quite the same equipment as we maintain,” Prowl begrudgingly admitted, standing and dusting himself off, to take up Jazz’s previous position.  There was no point in fighting it now.  “The, err, ‘males’ of the species seem to have the same spike/valve setup that we have, but the ‘females’ have two valves and no spike?  Or that seems to be the case in 90% of the stimulating content I have investigated.  Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what the difference between the two is supposed to be at this point.”

“Eh,” Jazz shrugged.  “Just go with the flow, my mech.  They know better than we ever will.”

Prowl folded his arms, glaring a hole into the back of Jazz’s head, hoping he’d take the hint.  Jazz did not take the hint.

“So, a mech has to wonder,  _ why _ are you watching human self-service media?  Bots ain’t do it for you no more?”

“That is none of your concern,” Prowl hissed, perhaps with a bit too much venom.  Why couldn’t he just play it cool?  Jazz was certain to read into his defensiveness.

“Or  _ maybe _ . . .” Jazz trailed off with a wicked grin that turned Prowl’s fuel to ice.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Jazz laughed.  “It’s okay.  Your secret’s safe with me.”  He winked dramatically.  Prowl did not like where this was going.  Jazz never just dropped an issue.  And indeed, just before he skittered out the door, he added a cocky, “But you may wanna talk your new  _ urges _ over with one of our human friends.  Maybe  _ Spike _ could help you with that.”

He was gone before Prowl had the chance to explode on him.  That irreverent little aft!  They were at war!  Surely he had something better to do than pester Prowl.

. . .

He was right though.  Prowl deflated with a sigh, switching off the movie.  What was he doing?  Watching human self service videos?  For what purpose?  What did he think he was trying to accomplish?  Yes.  He liked Spike.  Even  _ he _ could admit as much.  

But what did it matter?  The two were incompatible.  He was a Cybertronian, and Spike was a  _ human being _ .  Even in the .02% chance that Spike returned his feelings, they could never be together.  Not like this.  And based on what Streetwise had told him, Spike was particularly fond of interface.

It was unlike him, but he slumped over, resting his head on the desk.  He was better than this.  He was  _ Prowl _ !  Unflappable, pragmatic, cold, and strict, willing to do whatever it took to win.  And here he was, being utterly defeated by a pathetic little sparkling crush on a tiny alien of all things!

But what an attractive alien he was.  Spike was confident, he was charming, a great leader, but not soft.  He had the respect of his men, he had strength, skill, wit, and charisma.  He was stability, perfection, everything Prowl desired in a partner, aside from the fact that he was, what?  Six feet tall, and would live maybe one hundred years, if that.  It wasn’t fair!  How could something so phenomenal be consigned to such a short existence?

_ Primus, Prowl!  Pull yourself together.  Control yourself.  Get over your crush.  It’s never going to happen.  The two of you CAN NOT be together. _

But wait . . .

Prowl had always been good at thinking outside the box.  He was known for it, in fact.  And an idea had just struck him, one that would resolve the compatibility issue, and bolster his chances of seducing Spike all the way to 31%!

Holomatter.  

His true form could never be what either of them needed, but a human-shaped cluster of light particles, connected to his neural net, capable of experiencing sensation, as though his mind had been transplanted into a new frame . . .

True, it was a gross misuse of the equipment, equipment which he only had the barest experience with, but he  _ needed _ this.  Jetfire would understand.  The urges Prowl was feeling were a distraction, and a distracted Prowl was 15% less efficient than a Prowl with a clear head.  He would use the equipment, seduce Spike, and then go back to his old, sensible self.  It was the perfect plan!

At least, so long as he could keep Jazz out of his business.  If that fragger found out about this little plan, Prowl would never live it down.

~~~

Prowl stood in a human bar feeling remarkably out of place, despite the disguise.  It had been years since he’d last had reason to use his human disguise, and even so, he’d never spent a lot of time in this particular body.  It was meant to appear completely uninteresting.  Average height, average weight, clean cut, human optics hidden behind dark glasses, wearing a suit, as was proper.  Verity and her friends had complained about unnatural smiles, but that was hardly an issue for Prowl.  As best he could tell, he blended in perfectly.

And Spike would be here.  Streetwise had been tailing him all month.  He knew Spike’s routine in and out, and  _ this _ particular bar was where he always came when he wanted to pick up a mate.  And unlike the rest of these strangers, Prowl had the advantage of  _ knowing _ Spike.  Knowing what he liked.  Having interests and work in common.  It should be easy enough to pick up his human companion.

_ Should have _ .

But though Spike arrived, drank and danced and flirted with the other humans, he never so much as spared a passing glance Prowl’s way.  In fact, no one did.  And when Prowl sought  _ Spike  _ out, he was brushed off with a, ‘Sorry man, don’t swing that way.’  Whatever  _ that  _ meant.

“It means you ain’t his type,” Jazz explained later.  Prowl resented the fact that  he’d even considered talking to Jazz about this, but what choice did he have?  He was out of his depth here, and Jazz was a master of seduction that just so happened to know Prowl’s secret.  He was the best shot Prowl had.

“Can’t believe you thought he’d go for you just ‘cause you was wearin’ a human face at the time.  Thought you was smarter than that, my mech.”

“Yes,” Prowl growled through gritted teeth.  “In retrospect, I realize that was a foolish mistake.”

“They ain’t so different from us, Prowler.  Just gotta remember that.”

“Yes,” Prowl said again, with twice as much vitriol, as the memory of his Spike Witwicky pressed close to some tiny, curvy, fair-headed human that smelled  _ way _ too much of flowery chemicals, refused to leave him be.  Spike had gone home with that one.  Aft.

“But you’re lucky, Prowl.  You can look like anything you want.  All you gotta do is figure out what he goes for, and you’re halfway there!”

Prowl narrowed his eyes.  “I know what he goes for.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever the human equivalent of a Speedster is.  Small, sleek, flashy.”

“Ah.  One of  _ those _ ,” Jazz chuckled.  That was his bitter chuckle, practically indistinguishable from his normal chuckle, at least to the common audial.  Prowl knew Jazz better than that, however.  And what Speedster didn’t secretly disdain the distressingly-common Speedster fetishist?

“You sure you’re wantin’ to get wrapped up in this?  I don’t wanna see you hurt again.”

Prowl shook his head.  “I understand that such attractions more common here –”

_ “Prowl.” _

“I’ll be fine,” he assured.  “I know Spike, and I know he’d never hurt me.”

“Yeesh,” Jazz sighed, dragging a palm down his face.  “Well, do whatever it is you gonna do; I won’t stop you.  Just . . .” he paused, making a point of meeting Prowl’s optics, the blue emanating from his visor bright and blinding.  “Be careful.”

~~~

Prowl wasn’t going to fuck this up again.  Being small, sleek, and flashy wasn’t enough.  Plenty of humans at the bar that night had fit that bill.  He needed to outshine all of them.  And so, he had Streetwise keep tabs on the women Spike brought back to his home.  Took notes on what traits they shared.  Listened to the things he said, the compliments he offered, even took note of where it was Spike’s eyes seemed to linger.  And he had done exemplary work in his report.   

_ Note to self: give Streetwise a raise. _

But Prowl didn’t stop there; further research was required.  And so, he’d taken out a subscription in Sandra’s name for a number of fashion magazines, joined the other mechs on base for human movie night, watching studiously over Bluestreak’s shoulder, paying close attention to how the humans that matched Spike’s ‘type’ behaved.  He even took notes on the other movies, the ones he watched in private, determined to perfectly disguise himself as the sexy supermodel he knew Spike wanted.

He was ready.  

~~~

Half a month later: same bar, same time.  Every eye in the room was on Prowl as he strutted onto the noisy dance floor, hips sashaying back and forth with each step.  Delicately tossing his blond curls over his shoulders, he scanned the room for Spike.

"Hey baby, wanna come dance with me?"

"Lookin' fine tonight!"

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Let's you and me get physical, whaddya say?"

Prowl was starting to regret this plan.  He'd designed his holoform to be physically attractive to Spike.  He hadn't been expecting everyone else to find it attractive too.  Humans really did have such limited, predictable tastes. 

He dismissed pick up lines, ignored catcalls, stepped around groping hands, all while desperately seeking a certain familiar human being in this hive of chaos and drunkenness.  Spike was supposed to be here; Streetwise's intel had been accurate thus far.  Spike came here every Friday at seven thirty sharp.  So then, where was he?

Prowl was on the verge of giving up, going back to the Autobot base to bury his shame in work, when a familiar figure strutted into the room, with a beautiful human woman already wrapped around his arm.  Primus, couldn’t Prowl catch a break?

“Hey babe, you ever been with a  _ real _ man?”  The stranger’s breath stank of the humans’ equivalent to engex.  His eyes were unfocused, and his body was wet with perspiration.  He was larger than Prowls’ holoform by a significant margin, covered in ripply human muscles.  Prowl figured he was probably attractive by human standards, though he held no candle to Spike’s charm.  

But Spike was unavailable.  Prowl couldn’t have him as he was.  But maybe, if he made himself appear unavailable, he could entice Spike into giving him some much-craved attention.  It was worth a shot.  Seventy-one percent odds of success were nothing to scoff at.  

“I haven’t,” Prowl responded, with all honesty.  He was no stranger to interface, but not in the way this man was thinking.

“Then come with me.”  The stranger reached for Prowl’s dainty wrist, and dragged his holoform out onto the dance floor, pressing their bodies close together.  If there was any disparity between the feel of a human body and the feel of a holomatter avatar, the man didn’t seem to notice.  

He wasn’t much of a gentleman, Prowl noticed.  He’d seen enough romance films by this point to know that the aft was a no-go zone for an unfamiliar human.  But he didn’t resist the touch of those firm hands around his shapely human body.  It felt nice, if not a bit disconnected.  Still, the science behind holomatter was miraculous; it was hard to believe he could feel anything at all.

Their bodies pressed close together, and he could feel the wetness of this man’s skin against his own exposed human flesh, as they pressed close together, as rough hands mapped out every inch of this new body.  Despite the pleasant warmth pooling deep within him, Prowl couldn’t keep his discomfort from building.  He wasn’t supposed to be with this man; he was supposed to be with  _ Spike _ .

Out of curiosity, he glanced around the bar, seeking out his desired target.  Success!  Spike was watching him, ignoring his own date, fingers clenched tightly around the bottle in his hand.  Prowl shot him a sultry smile, which only caused those fingers to clench tighter, and he registered a .3 percent increase in Spike’s body temperature.  Oh yes.  He’d finally done something right. 

“Hey babe, eyes on me!” his dance partner growled, using his strong fingers to force Prowl’s face back his way.  Prowl didn’t want to look at that sharp face, at that hair with its stinky styling product, at that flushed skin and those beady eyes.  He wanted to look at Spike.  “Unless you don’t like what you see.”

“Not particularly,” Prowl admitted.  Was it a strategically sound thing to say?  From a certain point of view, yes.  

With his fragile ego struck, the strange man flung Prowl to the ground, an action that probably would have caused an actual human a fair amount of pain.  “What was that you said?!” he snapped.  “I ain’t good enough for you?”

Before he could act against Prowl again, Spike was leaping in, body-slamming the burly man straight into the floor, stomping his fingers when he tried to crawl back up to his feet.

“Yeow!  Get the fuck off me, you sick fuck!” the stranger yowled, and Spike complied, placing himself between Prowl and this other human.

“I can’t stand losers like you.  That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“Fine!” the man screamed.  “Go ahead and have her!  I don’t want a whore like that anyway!”  He shrieked again as Spike’s foot connected with his jaw.  From the door, Prowl could see security guards racing in – two more burly humans.  He hadn’t meant to cause such a stir, but he was glad for the effect.  Spike was here, standing up for his honor, and according to every human movie he’d studied, this was a good thing.  

“Alright, fellas, break it up,” the bouncer was saying; Prowl didn’t care.  Spike’s hand was reaching for his own, helping him back to his feet, and those intense brown eyes were gazing into his own, in curiosity and worry.

“No worries, Sir,” said Spike.  “I was just leaving.”  He released Prowl’s hand and headed for the door, and dammit, Prowl wasn’t about to waste his chance.  He scurried after Spike, shifting past any pesky humans that got in his way, annoyed at how these impractical human shoes made running a near impossibility.  Why would anyone find such a thing attractive?

Spike was waiting for him on the front porch of the bar, leaning against a post, all aloof and sexy like.  Did he know just what effect he had on Prowl?

“I hoped you’d still be here,” Prowl said, in that high human voice that was not his own.  “I wanted to thank you back there for what you did.  That was very brave.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Spike shrugged.

“But, um, didn’t you come here with another . . . woman?”  That was the right word.  ‘Woman,’ yes.

“I did, but it doesn’t matter.  You’ve done a pretty good job of catching my eye.  I might even consider taking you home with me for the night, provided you answer me one question.”

Prowl’s spark skipped a beat.  “What is that?”

“Are you some kind of . . . robot in disguise?”

This time, Prowl’s spark skipped a beat for an entirely different reason.  “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you’re pretty much a fuckin’ supermodel – no offense, but you’re too beautiful to be real, and when we touched back there – well, I’m pretty certain you’re not.  I’ve seen some weird shit in my day, but I’ve touched enough women to know they don’t rumble like an engine when you hold their hand.  And then . . . well, there’s a very conspicuous police car parked outside, and I couldn’t help but wonder, especially after something Jetfire told me . . . 

“So if I’m wrong, my bad, but go on and tell me, are you Prowl?”

Prowl could have killed Jetfire.  He expected this sort of behavior from Jazz, but how could Jetfire betray him in such a way?

“I am,” he admitted.

“And you disguised yourself as the cloned combination of Uma Thurman and Megan Fox because . . . you really wanna tap my ass?” he laughed at his own joke.

“I’m not sure about that, but I do admit to finding you attractive.  I won’t deny it.”

“Weird,” he scoffed.  “Didn’t realize I was a hot piece of ass to alien robots and human babes alike.  I guess I’m flattered.  And I mean, who wouldn’t want to leave on the arm of someone looking like  _ you _ .  You really did your research, didn’t you?”  

“I did,” he said, feeling suddenly nervous.  What was he getting himself into?  Was he really ready for this?  Was it even possible?

“Well then,” Spike laughed, wrapping an arm around the aft of Prowl’s avatar, and pulling it in close, enough so to feel the change in heat between them, “Let’s blow this joint.”  The grin on his lips was strangely predatory as he led Prowl back to his own car – no, Breakdown, trapped in his own body.  It was despicable – Prowl shuddered, resisting the urge to throw off Spike’s arm.  This was what he wanted.  He’d come too far to back out over such a minor detail.

“Where are we going?” Prowl asked, more than a little nervous.

“Somewhere a little more private,” Spike laughed.  “Though I admit, I’ve always wanted to fuck on top of a police car.  Maybe you could bring your – er – body, or whatever.”

The mental image in Prowl’s mind was positively devious.  Spike, driving into his avatar, while positioned on top of his real body – yes, he liked this idea very much, a sentiment which didn’t bypass Spike’s attention.

“God, you’re adorable.  I take it you like the idea.”

“I do,” Prowl confirmed.

“Good.  Then let’s get outta here.”

~~~

‘Strange’ was the word that best described this situation.  He’d been seated on the hood of his own body, Spike wedged between his legs, his mouth locked on Prowl’s, squishy human glossa proving itself quite the explorer.  It paled in comparison to those roaming hands, however.  They traveled up and down Prowl’s back, beneath the cool silk of his dress, stopping to cup his aft, his thigh, a ‘breast,’ whatever  _ those _ were.  He was surprised to find this fabricated body so very responsive.  Perhaps the proximity to his own body was to thank, or maybe that was the power of Spike.

“Spike,” he breathed, hot, buzzing with electricity, and feeling a strange wetness between both the legs of his avatar, as well as in his own frame.  

“Damn, you’re hot,” Spike replied with a cocky laugh.  One of his hands left Prowl’s holoform to stroke long path down his hood.  “In every possible way.  Tell me, Prowl, is this something you Cybertronians do?”

“This?”

“Sex, Prowl.  It’s not a warm night, but you feel like you’ve been sitting out in the sun.  I’m not complaining either way, but I admit, I don’t find the idea of teaching an alien about our human ways all that abhorrent.”  He took Prowl’s mouth again, and slipped a hand between his thighs, up beneath the fabricated material of his short skirt.  He ran a thumb down the covered slit in the middle, where Prowl’s array would have been in his true form.  Prowl couldn’t help bucking into the touch.

“Man, you’re so needy.  Are you really feeling any of this?  ‘Cause if not, it’s a damn good simulation.”

“I feel it,” he answered, his voice strangely weak.  “I’ve seen your movies.  Our species are not as different as you may think.”

“What, really?” Spike laughed, shifting two fingers around the material that covered his array, and up into his human valve.  Prowl jerked, and Spike pulled out with a surprised yelp.  “Dammit, that’s hot!”

“Apologies,” Prowl muttered, ashamed.  “I admit, I don’t know the limits of a human body.  It is hard to determine what a proper temperature is.  I can lower it though.”

“Ugh,” Spike groaned, shoving his lubricant-slick fingers into Prowl’s mouth.  Was that the right word for it?  “All this technical talk is  _ not _ sexy.  Why don’t you fix the temperature issue, and tell me about how I’m the best you’ve ever had, yeah?”

Prowl considered this.  “I have never engaged in intercourse with my holoform before,” he admitted, after Spike withdrew his fingers in favor of feeling his way down Prowl’s jaw and throat, then back down to those weird human breasts he had such a fascination with.  “But it has been awhile, regardless.”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, not seeming to care.  “Hey Prowl, get on your knees for me, yeah?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He pulled back, lifting Prowl’s avatar by the waist and swapping their positions.  “On the ground.  While you sort out your . . . temperature issue, I wanna have a little fun.  On your knees.  I’m about to rock your world.”

Prowl somehow doubted that, but he obeyed anyway, still mildly curious.  What was it Spike had planned?  Something with his namesake?  He must have been quite good with it, if he’d picked up that nickname.

_ Don’t be ridiculous, Prowl.  Humans don’t call it a ‘spike.’ _

But indeed, Spike unbuttoned his pants, and slid them down, leaving his weird, fleshy spike, fully pressurized, exposed to the night air.  “‘Kay babe, now I want you to –”

Prowl was two steps ahead.  He crawled forward, open-mouthed, and wrapped his plush lips around Spike’s human spike.  It tasted strange, salty, but it felt good in his mouth.  This was familiar territory.  Prowl had become quite good with his mouth over the years; he moved up and down the length of Spike, putting every trick he’d learned in his days of pleasuring uptight diplomats to use.

“Holy fuck!” Spike choked.  “How are you so good at that?”

Prowl answered with a low rumble in his throat, not pulling away.

“Oh shit, Prowl!  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!”  After no more than a minute of contact, he reached forward, shoving Prowl’s hungry mouth off his spike.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Prowl asked, cocking his head, feeling wet strands of his own human hair plastered to his face.  How annoying this stuff was; why did humans care about it so much?  It certainly did get in the way of using his mouth.

“N-not at all,” Spike groaned, leaning back on Prowl’s hood.  “Oh fuck, no, that was great.  The whole electric buzz you’ve got going on, on top of that skilled little mouth of yours – man, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to human chicks after this,” he laughed.  “But I don’t wanna blow my load just yet.  I wanna fuck you good and right, yeah?”  He tapped Prowl’s hood at his side.  “Here, come back up here.”

Prowl hurried to obey, scurrying up onto his real frame, which had grown noticeably warmer in his time on the ground.  Spike was quick to wrap his broad hands around the avatar’s slim waist, and to pull it on top of him as he slid up Prowl’s body, until he was draped over the windshield, his knees bent and boots firmly on the hood.  Prowl’s avatar sat on its knees, the warmth between its thighs hovering just over Spike’s human spike.  He would have loved to slide down atop the thing, to feel it inside of him.  What would it be like?

“You get that temp control issue fixed?” Spike murmured, pulling Prowl down to nibble on his ear.

“I’ve been trying, but it is difficult to run checks on this avatar.”

Spike sighed, filling Prowl with fear.  The last thing he’d wanted to do was cause displeasure.  “Babe,” Spike groaned, “talk like that is not sexy.  Just say something like, ‘See for yourself.’”  He slipped his hand into Prowl’s, then guided it between Prowl’s legs, once more sliding past the flimsy fabric protecting his valve.  Spike’s fingers slid in easily, and Prowl’s followed suit.  His avatar slumped forward, enjoying the feeling of being filled so.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s way better,” Spike laughed.  “You like that, don’t ya?”

“Mmm,” Prowl agreed.

In tandem, they slid their fingers in and out of Prowl for a short, delightful eternity that was still over all too soon.  Prowl moaned in protest once Spike withdrew.  He was far from sated.

“Relax, babe.  I’ve got something better for you.”  His hands, one still slick from Prowl’s lubricants, found their way to Prowl’s hips, grabbing onto the thin fabric that protected his valve, and pulling it down.  Evidently he wanted it off.  Prowl obliged, shaping the strange garment out of existence.  

“Whoa!” Spike said.  “You can do that?”

“Yes,” Prowl nodded.  “It takes a little effort, but it’s pretty easy.  Shall I remove the rest of my clothes as well?”

Spike considered that for a moment.  “Nah,” he said, “I’d rather strip you myself.”  The hands moved to the back of Prowl’s dress, unzipping the fabric back there, before sliding the thin down over his arms, dragging the bodice along with it, until Prowl’s chest was bare.  With a dopey grin, Spike buried his face in Prowl’s breasts, his tongue exploring the small expanse between them.  “Better than the real thing,” he grinned, though his hands were quick to return to Prowl’s waist, maneuvering him a little farther south, and when that proved unsatisfactory, he added a further command.  “Arch your back for me.”

Prowl did so, finding Spike’s spike stiffly pressed against the entrance to his valve.  At that moment, he knew without a doubt, that he wanted that thing inside of him.  He moved his delicate hands to his aft, spreading himself over it, and slowly slid down its length, taking it in all the way.  Primus, it felt so big inside of him!  He hunched forward, shivering, and Spike’s hands ran up and down his back in comfort.

“You got it.  Damn, that’s good.”  Spike gave him a moment to adjust, but he wasn’t much for patience.  Soon, he was bucking his hips upward into Prowl, digging in deeper and deeper, and oh, it felt so good!  Prowl couldn’t stifle his pleasured moan.

“S-Spike”  He moved his hips to match the thrusts, trying to pull Spike deeper and deeper inside of him; he  _ needed _ Spike to be deeper inside of him.  He needed the two of them to be one.  

Prowl’s delicate fingers clutched at Spike’s shoulders, the long, manicured nails digging in, leaving tiny red trails in their path.  It must have hurt, but Spike seemed to like it, if his moaning was anything to go by.  Prowl quickly stifled the sound with a deep, if not brief, kiss.  It was too difficult to get his hips to move in the right angle with their mouths locked.

“Didn’t expect a fuckin’ robot to be so good at this.”

“I could say the same of you,” Prowl retorted, which earned a sharp jerk on his hair from Spike.  It was painful, but in the best of ways.

Interfacing in a pseudo-human body was strange.  Not unpleasant, certainly, but strange.  Most of the parts matched up well enough, though the bits were all a bit more squishy.  But it was that squishiness that was the problem.  It made the heat all the hotter, the wetness all the wetter, and the sensations that much more intense.  And yet, despite the delightful rush of pain and pleasure that wracked his fabricated body, Prowl didn’t feel as though he was anywhere near an overload.  Either the avatar was defective, or the human means of building ‘charge,’ as it were, was drastically different.

“Mmm, Spike,” he groaned.  “Spike, something’s wrong.  I feel . . . weird.”

“You gonna climax baby?” Spike asked, nibbling on the lobe of Prowl’s . . . ear, he believed it was called.  The sensation felt as though it would have been surprisingly charge-inducing, were he capable of it.

“I’m not building any charge.”

Spike pulled back, though he kept a firm grip on Prowl’s hips, guiding them back and forth over his . . . was it called a ‘dick?’  “What do you mean, ‘charge’?  That how you orgasm?”

“I believe so, yes,” Prowl said, thinking back to his studies.  “I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel for humans, but it definitely doesn’t feel – mmm – doesn’t feel right.”

Spike frowned.  “You sayin’ it’s bad?”

“No!” Prowl panted, leaning forward to reward Spike with another deep kiss.  “No, it’s very good – like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  But I don’t –”

Spike interrupted him with another kiss.  “Well, we’ll just have to try a little harder then.”  Before Prowl knew what was happening, Spike had withdrawn from his valve, and slid the two of them off of Prowl’s hood.  “Stand here for me.  Brace yourself on the hood.”  

Prowl nodded and did so, arching his back, and revealing his human array to the cold night air.

“Mmm, that’s just right.” Spike leered.  He didn’t take long to admire the view, however.  Instead, his hot spike was right back up against Prowl’s valve, sliding in with ease.  He wrapped one hand around Prowl’s waist, and grabbed a handful of breast in the other, and began to thrust.  The angle allowed him to get in faster, deeper – it was so much better; Prowl couldn’t help but cry out in ecstasy.

“You like that, don’t ya?”

“Y-yes!  Yes!” he cried.  Within his own frame, he could feel his motor begin to rev, his internal temperature rise, his joints begin to lubricate.  Evidently, Spike noticed this change.  He laughed, derisively.

“Ooh, someone’s warming up.”  The attempted taunt was weak.  Spike didn’t have much left in him; Prowl could sense it.  In fact, it came a bit earlier than anticipated.  “Oh fuck!”

All in all, it wasn’t too different from a Cybertronian overloading into him, albeit maybe a little less dramatic.  There were no sparks flying, circuits burning, and most importantly, mutual overloading from a certain unfulfilled Prowl.  

Spike slid out, pulling his pants back up and fastening them without sparing Prowl a glance.  “Wow, that was . . . that was nice.”

Prowl turned around, sliding up onto his hood again.  “Spike,” he said, frowning.

“What babe?”

“You gonna finish  _ me _ ?”  He let his legs fall open, hoping to entice Spike, though the man looked a little less than enthusiastic.

“I suppose I better.  What kind of man would I be if I didn’t satisfy?”  He slid forward and dipped his fingers into Prowl.  It felt good, though not quite so much as before.  How was he supposed to overload like this?

“That good, babe?”

“Mmm, yes,” Prowl said.  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t nearly as good as he wanted.  Somehow, if this was all Spike had, he doubted he’d be overloading after all.  Oh well.

Spike kept on for a bit, and Prowl played the part of the pleasured partner, even as his own pleasure waned.  He moaned and pleaded and praised before at last throwing his head back and dissipating his holoform.

“What the?!  Prowl?”  Spike gave a startled look around, then looked to his hand, surprised to find it suddenly dry.  Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Prowl’s real body, still revved up, still in alt mode.  “What was that?”

“I didn’t actually expect that to happen,” Prowl lied.  “My apologies.”

“I thought you knew everything.”  Spike’s sharp laugh was grating.  Why had he been so enamored with this shallow creature?  Hadn’t that moment meant anything to Spike?  Why the spiteful joke?”

“Only a fool thinks he knows everything,” Prowl replied bitterly.

Spike’s face twisted into a grimace.  “Why so bitter after I just rocked your world?”

“Bitter?”  Prowl slumped on his wheels.  It was probably better to stay on good terms with their human correspondent.  “Not bitter.  Just tired.”

“Ah,” Spike grinned, giving Prowl’s hood a good pat.  “That good, ah?  Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Yes, I feel the same.”  He waited for an awkward moment, half hoping that Spike would excuse himself.

“Never done it on a police car before,” he laughed.  “Felt so wrong, but in the best way!”

“What now?” Prowl cut in before Spike could keep on with the small talk.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Prowl said, hesitantly, “where do we go from here?”

Spike leapt away, as though shocked.  “Whoa, Prowl.  Don’t go getting attached, now.  This is just a fling – I don’t need an alien girlfriend, or whatever you are.  Not to say I’d be opposed to a second time.”  He gave Prowl’s hood another affectionate pat.  “Feel free to hit me up if you get the urge.  In the meantime, I’ll see you at work.”  

Prowl watched his once-crush wander off into the night, disgusted with himself.  What had he just done?  He knew what kind of person Spike was; why had he let himself fall for such a personality, and in a human no less?  At his back, he felt a familiar presence.

“Don’t say anything,” he groaned, pulling out of the parking lot, and planting his avatar in the driver’s seat.  It felt dirty to have this shallow fantasy inside of him.  Jazz pulled back to give him room, following him from the parking lot.  Much to Prowl’s surprise, the usually chatty mech kept his vocaliser silent for the duration of the trip back to base.  His EM field was extended wide, however, projecting comfort and understanding the entire way.  

Falling for Spike had been a mistake, but at least he still had the Autobots.  He’d spent more than enough time distracted by his pining over an unappreciative human.  It was time to get back to protecting and serving his brothers in arms.


End file.
